


The Ghost in Room Six

by wingedbears



Series: Ghost in Room Six [1]
Category: Rogue One: A Star Wars Story (2016)
Genre: Ghosts, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-01
Updated: 2017-08-01
Packaged: 2018-12-09 20:35:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,238
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11676609
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wingedbears/pseuds/wingedbears
Summary: Cassian runs a dying bed and breakfast, Bodhi comes to hunt ghosts.  Kay the Maine Coon is smug.





	The Ghost in Room Six

**Author's Note:**

> [ Moodboard](https://wingedbears.tumblr.com/post/163348524733/cassian-runs-a-dying-bed-and-breakfast-and-bodhi)

Cassian is long suffering. If you forget everything else, remember that Cassian is long suffering. He bought this bed and breakfast because his doctor told him that he could either keep being a stock broker on Wall Street for twenty years, or he could retire and live twice that long. 

So Cassian retired and bought this hotel in Maine, in a town no one has heard of, even him. It was for his health, for his sanity. 

But now he has to deal with customers like Mr. Rook, with huge brown eyes and an aquiline nose leaning over the counter asking him about the ghost.

Let Cassian be clear: there is no ghost. It’s not that Cassian doesn’t have a healthy respect for the dead and their afterlife, (thanks, Abuela), but the creaks and doors opening on their own and cold rooms are just that. No ghost.

Anyway, Mr. Rook is apparently doing research for his writing on the ghost in Cassian’s hotel. It is the first time he’s even heard of such, but really Cassian has tuned out whatever Mr. Rook was saying after the word ghost. He’s currently doing research on everything behind the counter that he can see, including the sticky note Cassian wrote to himself about buying more cat food. Cassian can’t push him away, so he grabs the room key, number six, specifically requested, and picks up Mr. Rook’s bag. “Right this way, Mr. Rook,” he says.

“Oh, Bodhi is fine,” Mr. Rook says. “I thought that maybe there would be more guests here, but this is actually optimal.”

“Okay,” Cassian draws out, trying to shrug off that it’s obvious he’s not making money. Making money isn’t important anymore. Sustaining is. He continues up the stairs.

“Oh!” Mr. Rook exclaims, following diligently. “I mean, I’ll tell all my friends and family, of course. It’s very beautiful.”

“Thank you,” Cassian wheezes at the top of the stairs. He sets the luggage down and opens the door. It’s a corner room, overlooking the gazebo and the fire pit, and interminably cold. There’s several quilts on the bed, mismatched but warm. The bed also has the silk robe and terrycloth towels and Kay, his Maine Coon, who is glaring at him for disturbing his sleep.

“A cat!”

Mr. Rook seems to be excited about everything, including the things that didn’t exist, like ghosts or Cassian’s customer service. He picks up Kay with a grunt (Kay is eighteen pounds) and thanks Cassian profusely for his kindness.

Cassian squints at Mr. Rook, Bodhi, and nods. “That’s Kay,” he says. “He has a couple of rooms that are favorites, this is one of them. If he scratches at the door tonight, I apologize.”

“Oh no, that’s great! Animals have a sense for the spirit world that humans don’t.”

“Okay.” Cassian thins his lips and turns to leave, but he remembers the second part of b and b; breakfast. “Breakfast starts at six,” he says turning back. “Can I go ahead and get your order?”

“What’s available?” Mr. Rook leans his head down to nuzzle at Kay. Kay, who normally would lash out at this kind of behavior, purrs and shoot Cassian a look he’d dare to call smug. He’d be right to be, in Mr. Rook’s arms.

“Normal breakfast fare,” Cassian shrugs, and then blushes. Mr. Rook is catching him off guard. Like Cassian is continually tripping. “Granola, yogurt, croissants, omelets,” Cassian says, trying to seem hospitable, and not like a total ogre.

“Omelet, please,” Mr. Rook says. He puts Kay down and Kay wraps around his legs, leaving a trail of brown hair. “The works. And coffee?” he looks hopeful.

“Of course, Mr. Rook,” Cassian says. “I’ll deliver it to your room at six. If there’s anything else you need, don’t hesitate to ask. I’m in the room at the bottom of the stairs.”

“Thank you,” Mr. Rook says, and Cassian leaves him to the room where there’s no ghost.

 

The next morning, Cassian wakes up and makes two coffees and an omelet with the works. He downs one of the coffees, it’s entirely too hot, but it doesn’t burn him so he can live with it. He slides the omelet onto a plate when it’s done, and puts the other coffee and the omelet on a tray. 

He shuffles up the stairs, and balances the tray on his arm to knock on Mr. Rook’s door. The door swings open almost immediately. “Good morning!” Bodhi says. He’s wearing a shirt and boxers and the silk robe which is wide open. Cassian blushes while Mr. Rook grabs the tray and turns to put it on the bed. Cassian regrets putting in the flowers in the bud vase. It’s too much. 

Cassian grunts. “Your breakfast, Mr. Rook,” he says two beats too late, and see that Kay got to spend the night. He’s not jealous of a cat.

Mr. Rook picks up the coffee and inhales like it’s the breath of God. “I insist you call me Bodhi,” he says, deep eyes looking at Cassian. 

“Then call me Cassian,” Cassian replies. He shouldn’t. He should draw the line. Bodhi is a guest in his hotel, a customer. Cassian’s only customer. The only guest in a long while, and the calendar looking out is gloomy too.

“Cassian,” Bodhi says, breaking Cassian’s thoughts, “this place is amazing. I need to know everything you know.”

Cassian blinks, and says nothing for a moment. “It’s a house,” he says, trying to be accommodating.

“I’ll have to stay in the dining room overnight. Is that okay?”

“Yes?” There’s nothing in the dining room, let alone guests, so there’s no real reason to say no.

“Great! You wouldn’t happen to have the estate papers?”

“The what now?” Cassian’s eyes follow Bodhi as he flits around the room, drinking his coffee and shuffling papers, lifting books only to set them down again. Cassian feels slow and heavy in comparison.

“There’s a library,” Cassian says before he can think better of it, and Bodhi’s eyes get impossibly bigger.

“What,” Bodhi breathes in awe.

“It might have what you’re looking for,” Cassian continues, feeling a lump in his throat.

“That’s amazing.” Cassian gets the strange feeling that he’s talking to Beauty, and he’s the beast of the castle. Cassian clears his throat.

“When you’re finished with breakfast I can meet you at the front desk and show you,” he offers. The library is technically off limits. But this is for research. 

 

Cassian is downstairs and rifling through the bills he can’t really pay from profits, but then again, when did this place ever make money?

Bodhi comes down the stairs before Cassian can get into too deep of a depression. His hair is up in a small bun (Cassian has mixed feelings about this) and his eyes are bright. He claps his hands together. “Library?” he asks.

“Right.” Cassian goes around th counter and around Bodhi and leads him down the hall to the last room on the left. “It’s not much, but I think there’s —”

Cassian is cut off by a gasp. “What?” he asks, turning.

“This is amazing,” Bodhi says.

“Okay,” Cassian says, feeling a lack of anything else to say. He walks over to the old desk, still covered in the dust sheet, and carefully pulls it off. “I’m guessing if there was anything on the house itself, it would be in here.”

Bodhi runs long fingers along the solid wood, then tucks them under to the drawer. “There’s a key and everything,” Bodhi says. He looks up and smiles, his eyes crinkling. “Next you’ll tell me that there’s a secret room behind the bookshelves.”

Cassian wishes he could say that, proudly pull on a book and have the shelves turn, but instead he shrugs. “Just what you see, I’m afraid.”

“Well, it’s wonderful. I promise to be careful. Do I need to wear gloves?”

“Uh, no,” Cassian says. “Nothing that important in here.”

“We’ll see,” Bodhi says, teasingly, and Cassian leaves before his face bursts into flames.

 

Cassian leaves Bodhi alone while he shifts through papers and heads back to his bills. He can stretch the credit card a little further, take out from his retirement… although who is he kidding, he thinks, this is his retirement. He’s deep in thought when he hears it, a creak down the pipes.

Cassian looks up in panic. It’s almost cold enough for the pipes to burst, but he thought he might have a few more months before he worried about that. It creaks again, worryingly, but stops just as Bodhi runs up.

“Did you hear that?” Bodhi asks, eyes bright. 

“Yes, and thank goodness the pipes haven’t burst,” Cassian says, standing up. “The place would fall down around my ears-” Cassian stops to look at Bodhi, who seems to be drooping. “What is it?” Cassian asks.

“Just, I’m always chasing ghosts, and I just want one to be real. Not just pipes, or old houses, something real.”

Cassian pauses. “Tonight we’re having a bonfire, would you like to come?”

Bodhi blinks. “A bonfire?” He smiles. “I haven’t been to one since undergrad,” he laughs. “Yes,” he says. “I’d love that.”

“Great. Around four thirty, behind the house,” Cassian says, watching Bodhi’s back as he returns to the library. Now Cassian has to spend the rest of the afternoon finding dry firewood because he didn’t know he was having a bonfire until he saw Bodhi’s frown. And s’mores, they’ll need s’mores too.

 

The General Store is quiet, as usual, and Jyn is on her phone behind the counter. She glances up and smiles. “Word on the street is you’ve got a new customer,” she drawls.

Cassian rolls his eyes. “Does Baze still sell firewood?” he asks, trying to deter further conversation. 

“Maybe. Chirrut says he’s cute. Is he cute?”

Cassian shrugs off the question while blushing, then stops. “Chirrut is blind,” he says affronted.

“Chirrut says he has a cute aura,” Jyn corrects, not even worried. “Or sweet, I forget which.”

“It doesn’t matter, he’s only here for three more days.”

“Don’t worry, that’s plenty of time,” Jyn says, following Cassian further into the store. “We’ll get you in love, don’t worry little mermaid,” she bats her eyes.

“If that makes you the crab in this situation, that seems more than appropriate.” He waits until Jyn is on her phone again to sneak the marshmallows under his vest. He’s not stealing them. Just, paying for them without Jyn seeing.

Jyn doesn’t look up, so Cassian moves down the aisle. “Baze says he’ll give you the wood at a discount, it’s piling up.”

Cassian sighs. This town was dying, slowly. But dammit, Cassian wasn’t going to let it just happen without a fight. “Tell him I’m paying him full price and to not argue.”

Her phone buzzes. “Too late, Chirrut is in on it now.”

Cassian refrains from groaning, and reaches down to get the chocolate and pockets it quickly while Jyn’s distracted.

“Tell them,” Cassian emphasizes, although it won’t matter because he’s doing it through Jyn, and she’s texting, “That I will pay full price or I won’t take any.”

Jyn is moving her thumbs at lightening speed, so Cassian grabs the graham crackers on the bottom shelf, but unfortunately that makes the marshmallows come out of his vest. 

“Oh my god,” Jyn says, looking at Cassian’s potential theft. She should kick him out the store, maybe even call the police, but she’s not paying any attention to Cassian’s shame.

“You’re making s’mores,” she breathes. “You’re going on a date,” she says, already jiggling up and down, her thumbs swiping across the screen frantically. 

“I’m not going on a date!” Cassian says. “The hotel is hosting a bonfire-”

“This changes everything!” Jyn squeals. Her phone starts buzzing again, and she looks down. “Baze and Chirrut will bring the firewood over, since you have your hands full,” she says, singing the last words. 

“I’m carrying groceries,” Cassian says in his most serious tone. “Nothing else.”

“So what time is the bonfire, I have to conduct the choir for you to kiss the boy,” Jyn says, back on her seat, the s’mores components in front of her like she didn’t just ruin Cassian’s life.

 

By the time Cassian returns, Baze already has a fire going, just embers and sharp flames crackling, but soon enough it will be roaring. Cassian drops the bag of groceries on one of the stumps and looks pleadingly at Baze. “Can you please ask your husband to not interfere with my guests?”

“Too late,” Baze says, pointing a stick towards the house. Cassian can just barely see the outline of Chirrut talking to someone behind the glass panel door. 

Cassian sighs, for what he feels is the hundredth time today. He sits next to the fire and stares for a minute. “He’s here for ghosts,” Cassian says.

“So he says,” Baze replies. Cassian doesn’t know why he bothers, but for some reason Baze is less unnerving than his husband. “Some ghosts are in houses, others haunt people.”

“If I wanted vague and eerie, I would be talking to Chirrut.”

This makes Baze laugh, at least. “He likes to play up the wise shaman. There’s truth in him, though.” 

“That’s what makes him eerie,” Cassian says.

“True enough,” Baze says, and there’s a warmth in his voice.

“I was just talking to your friend,” Chirrut announces, Bodhi behind him, picking his steps carefully while Chirrut walks over to the fire with ease. “He is quite the conversationalist.”

Cassian’s mouth thins into a line. He wonders what Bodhi might have said, but then Bodhi is looking up from the ground at him with a smile. Cassian finds himself smiling back without thinking about it.

 

The cold wind is at their backs and the warmth of the fire keeps them huddled around, Jyn sticking her marshmallows deep in the fire to burn them to a crisp. This inevitably brings up the argument of how to properly roast a marshmallow. No one wins, but the prize is s’mores to each own’s taste, so the compromise is satisfying.

“It seems only fair,” Chirrut speaks up as they’re surrounding the fire, “that with our new friend’s occupation, and our current situation, that it would be remiss to not tell ghost stories.”

Baze rolls his eyes and grumbles, poking the fire needlessly.

Bodhi sits up at this, his eyes alight.

“I will start,” Chirrut says. “Down an empty stretch of road, a boy was driving,” he says.

“Every one knows this one,” Baze says. “The ghost somehow materialized a sweater.”

Chirrut frowns at him. “You have no appreciation for the dramatic.”

Bodhi laughs. Chirrut nudges him gently with his walking stick, and Bodhi says, “I know a fairly good story.

“There was a hunter in the woods one night. He hadn’t caught anything that day. These were woods he knew very well, but when making the trek back to his truck, he realized he was lost. He turned to try to return to where he started, but even that made him more lost. He did, however, spy a dim light, and thinking it was maybe a sign of civilization, headed towards it. They might have a land line, as his cell phone was out of service, and might even be kind enough to let him stay the night.

“He approaches the house, and knocks on the door, but no one answers. He goes for broke and tries the door, and to his surprise, it opens.

“He looks around the house, and the first thing that comes to his attention are the paintings. Horrible images of grim features, dark eyes and warped faces. He does his best to ignore them, and falls asleep on the couch while the paintings’ eyes seem to follow him.

“He wakes up the next morning, not ready to look on the paintings again, but opens his eyes, only to see there are no paintings, only windows.”

Bodhi smiles, and everyone makes a show of being spooked, especially Jyn. “No thank you. That’s me done for the night.”

Bodhi’s skin gleams in the firelight, and Cassian curses himself for getting in this situation. Here he can see the beauty of Bodhi, but Cassian doesn’t need to fall for him. Too bad he’s already wriggled into Cassian’s heart.

After Bodhi’s story, Cassian clears everybody off the premises, and leads Bodhi to the dining room, where a medley of equipment is set up. He explains some of the techniques, technology, and science behind it, but Cassian didn’t understand all of it.  
“You know your stuff,” Cassian says, looking at the equipment set on one of the tables. He’s sort of afraid to touch it. 

Bodhi shrugs. “It’s my doctorate thesis.”

Cassian blinks at this. “You’re a doctor?” Bodhi is way out of Cassian’s league, here.

“Not yet. Of metaphysics.”

“Metaphysics?”

“It’s a philosophy-” Bodhi starts, but stops at Cassian’s smile. “What?”

“You were a philosophy major.”

Bodhi rolls his eyes. “Guilty as charged, alright? And I’m guessing you were…business?”

“Yeah, how did you-”

“It’s the most practical major there is,” Bodhi says, teasing and true.

Cassian huffs and crosses his arms, but the smile doesn’t fade. 

“So you need to catch a ghost to graduate?”

Bodhi snaps his neck to the side. “It’s more like I’d like to see if my theory that ghosts are real is true, and present my case to the board to graduate.”

“What’s the theory?”

“That our existence is only known to the self.”

Cassian looks at him, askance. 

“I mean that we know ourselves, and what we know, is ourselves. We exist in thought. If someone has experienced something beyond our comprehension, is that real? The experience is, but that doesn’t make the thing itself so.” He clears his throat. “People have experienced the supernatural for eons, as long as we’ve been writing and talking. There are those who have not experienced, and those that have, and I want to know where the line is between the real, the experience, and the not real, the unexperienced.”

“That’s wild,” Cassian says. “That you can think like that, come up with this idea.”

Bodhi ducks his head. It’s too dark for anything but outlines and shadows, so Cassian can’t tell if Bodhi is blushing, but he desperately wants it to be so.

“We all have our strengths,” Bodhi says. “I’m not particularly good at…networking and things of that nature.”

“You did just fine talking to my friends tonight.”

Bodhi turns his head and is quiet for a bit. 

“Why here?” Cassian asks. “What’s special about this place?”

Bodhi looks at him, and Cassian wish he could see his eyes, but no, just the outline of his head, fine hairs curling up around his ears.

“Before you bought this place, it was run by a family of four. The Williams.”

“If there was an ax murder here, I should’ve gotten this hotel for cheaper,” Cassian says, jittery all of a sudden. The earlier ghost story was just that, a story. A campfire telling, but Cassian was glad he was staying up with Bodhi, regardless.

Bodhi laughs, “No ax murders, I promise.”

“The Williams,” he continued, “the father disappeared one day, no note, no leaving of the house. His wife claims that he sneaked off in the middle of the night, but even after the police put out an APB on him, nothing. So they assumed he you know, went out for cigarettes.”

“Right,” Cassian says, enthralled.

“Well, the police come to find out, the husband had been a heavy drinker. And a mean one too. Rumors start spreading that Mrs. Williams did him in, pushed him down the stairs. But no body, no crime,” Bodhi says. 

“Do I need to dig up the cellar?”

“No, the police came and looked. Nothing.”

“So how is it haunted?”

“After Mr. William’s disappearance, guests started complaining of loud thumps, and cold rooms. Just little things, things you can shrug off. But one couple saw a man fitting Mr. William’s description sitting in their room at the top of the stairs. They told Mrs. Williams, and they went to look again, but he was gone.”

“One story, one experience.”

“Yes. What makes this place unique is that the ghost is so unconfirmed. There’s nothing to corroborate a death but people’s experiences with the afterlife. Maybe Mr. Williams moved to Florida and died. It’s an unsolved mystery.”

Cassian sighs. “And you can’t go into random houses, asking for one ghost story.”

“Everyone has a ghost story, it’s just whether or not they believe in it.”

Cassian hums at this, and they wait in the dark, waiting for a ghost to come.

 

Cassian wakes up the next morning groggy and disoriented. He fell asleep sometime between Bodhi telling ghost stories, and Cassian telling the secrets of Wall Street. 

He fell asleep on the table, and everything aches. He’s trying to crack his neck when he spies Bodhi looking intensely at some of the equipment. 

“Did you find anything?” Cassian asks. He walks over to Bodhi’s table. “Do you want coffee, or breakfast?”

Bodhi looks up and smiles. Cassian is sleepy, so he takes the moment to savor it, this moment. This morning marks the second night Bodhi has stayed. He leaves tomorrow. 

“I would love some breakfast and coffee, but first, look at this,” and he turns the camera around and shows Cassian the dining room in infrared, a full spectrum of color. The camera was pointed at the bottom of the stairs, and before Cassian can ask what he’s looking at, he sees a blue mass moving, the shape indefinable, here and gone. Bodhi lets the tape roll for a few more minutes, But nothing else happens. “What is that?” he asks, his arms in goosebumps.

“Nothing conclusive, I’m afraid. But it’s interesting, no?”

“Yes, very,” Cassian says, handing the camera back. 

Bodhi fiddles with the camera, then seems to notice that Cassian is still standing there. He grins slyly, which makes Cassian’s frozen body warm up again. He doesn’t know if he can take much more of this.

“I didn’t scare you, did I?”

Cassian rolls his eyes. “What do you want for breakfast?”

“The greasier the better,” Bodhi says. “Do you need help?” he stands up, and Cassian’s body starts to move without thinking about it, towards his room with the working stove top in the kitchenette. 

Bodhi follows, but not without questioning about the dining room. “There’s not a kitchen back there?”

“Yes, but since I don’t have that many guests, it’s cheaper to have the gas running in my room, instead.”

Bodhi nods, and Cassian shows him inside the room. He almost regrets it, should have said that it violates a health code, or something, the bed’s a mess, and Kay’s lounging in it, barely looking up at them. 

He’s got the coffee pot out, when Bodhi comes up behind him and grabs the moka pot. “Espresso, since we did an all-nighter?” he suggests.

Cassian huffs a laugh, and nods towards the coffee cart, the grinder and beans ready.

Making an omelet with the works is more intimate with Bodhi here. He’s at the kitchen table, looking at his phone and typing something out.

Cassian sets the omelet in front of Bodhi, and pours them both espresso, putting sugar in his. Bodhi gives him a look when Cassian sits across from him. 

“What?” he asks, blowing on the coffee to cool before sipping. 

“Where’s yours?” Bodhi asks, gesturing to his breakfast.

“I don’t eat breakfast,” Cassian says, but Bodhi rolls his eyes, and grabs a croissant from the counter along with the single serving of nutella. He sets it in front of Cassian.

“You need to start,” he says, a little huffy. 

Cassian should be mad, but he can’t help but smile. 

 

Bodhi leaves for most of the day, apparently to the local museum. Cassian didn’t even know this town had one. 

So Cassian spends the day looking for agents to send queries about buying the hotel. A maybe haunted hotel. There should be more business, especially since it’s New England in the fall. But no, nothing. Maybe the place is cursed. Maybe Cassian is cursed. 

He’s about to call an agent, when Bodhi bursts in, hair coming out of it’s binding. Cassian swallows at the sight, wondering what that hair feels like, what it might be like to — 

Cassian stops that line of thinking. Bodhi will be gone tomorrow.

“Cassian,” Bodhi breathes in excitement, “Cassian I think I can find out what happened to Mr. Williams!”

“Oh?” Cassian asks, reaching for nonchalant. 

“Did you know that this town was founded by witches?”

Cassian shakes his head. 

“I’m not saying the witches did it, but perhaps Mrs. Williams was into dark magic.”

“I think Jyn would’ve told me,” Cassian says.

Bodhi blinks. “What?”

“Jyn is a witch. She cleansed the hotel when I bought it. A house warming gift, she called it.”

Bodhi practically deflates at this news. “You cleansed the house with sage?” he moans forlornly.

“No, Jyn did,” Cassian says, throwing Jyn under the bus and hoping to still be in Bodhi’s good graces. 

Bodhi slumps on the counter. “I’m never going to find this ghost.” His voice is muffled.

“Did you sleep last night?” Cassian asks, attempting to steer the conversation to where Bodhi isn’t nearly crying.

“No,” Bodhi says.

Cassian leaves it at that. Bodhi is an adult, and Cassian can’t force decisions on him. Then he remembers breakfast. “You should. Sleep can do wonders.”

Bodhi lifts his head and looks at Cassian for a moment. Cassian does his best to look like butter wouldn’t melt in his mouth. Bodhi squints, but smiles again.

“You’re right,” he says. “Sleep will do me good.” He turns to walk up the stairs, and when Cassian hears the click of the door, he picks up his phone.

 

Bodhi had called the front desk as soon as he reached his room asking for a wake up call at five in the evening. Cassian rolls his eyes, but writes it down even though how could he possibly forget? Cassian knocks on Bodhi’s door and waits till he opens the door.

“I have something for you,” Cassian says.

“Dinner?” Bodhi yawns. He is undeniably rumpled, and Cassian has to physically clench his hands to keep from reaching out and touching him. Inappropriate. He’s gone tomorrow morning. Cassian swallows, and nods his head towards the stairs.

“It’s a surprise.”

Bodhi comes out of his room and looks. At the bottom of the stairs is Jyn, and her…accoutrements. Cassian doesn’t even know what this stuff could be. Kay is laying on the Ouija board.

Bodhi gasps. “You’re serious?”

“Bodhi, you’re my only guest. I’m going to have to sell in a few months, if this place is truly haunted, then you should know.”

Bodhi frowns a little. “Because I’m a guest,” he repeats softly.

Cassian ducks his head. “And a friend,” Cassian says. Nothing more.

Bodhi squeezes Cassian’s arm. “A good friend. No one’s ever done this for me.” His face is close to Cassian’s, he can feel Bodhi’s breath — 

“Are you two done canoodling, or can we start?”

Cassian absolutely doesn’t leap away. 

Bodhi looks oddly guilty, and speeds down the stairs. He’s scratching Kay’s chin by the time Cassian joins them.

Jyn, Bodhi, and Cassian try the Ouija board, a pendulum, and holding hands and asking Emmet Williams questions.

Emmet Williams’ spirit doesn’t come that night. 

 

Morning light streams into the foyer, and the trio at the bottom of the stairs are half asleep. Jyn rises, nods at Bodhi, then pulls her sage out of her pack and begins cleansing the house again. 

Cassian can barely keep his eyes open. “How do you do it? All these late nights?”

“An extraordinary amount of caffeine,” Bodhi replies.

“Speaking of which,” Cassian says, rising. He reaches out for Bodhi to help him up, and Bodhi tugs him to rise. He’s impossibly close, brown eyes shining.

“Coffee?” Cassian asks, trying to delay the inevitable. Bodhi’s checks out today.

Bodhi nods, and lets go of Cassian’s hand.

 

Breakfast doesn’t last long, and neither does Bodhi packing. He pets Kay goodbye, and smiles and thanks Cassian. He drives off, out of Cassian’s life. Cassian, who is long suffering, but also apparently self hating, watches him go. 

Jyn walks up behind him. “Done,” she says. “The house is clear.”

“Empty,” Cassian says, feeling dramatic even as he says it. “Nothing inside.”

Jyn places a hand on his shoulder and squeezes. He closes his eyes and wishes she would say something flippant, or even angry, but she says nothing, and goes back inside. 

 

Cassian is in the process of selling the hotel. He’s got the agent, and is looking for newer, tinier houses to live in. He’s grabbing his jacket to leave to meet Cassian is grabbing his jacket to meet with his realty agent when the hotel land line rings. He stares at it a moment, taken aback. The last time the phone rang, it was Bodhi.

“Andor’s Bed and Breakfast,” he says picking it up, “how can I assist you?”

“This is Andor’s B and B?”

“Yes.” That’s what I just said, Cassian thinks.

“The Andor?”

“I’m sorry, were you expecting—”

“No no no, this is great!” Heavy breathing, then a muffled voice. “I’d like to book a room, please.”

Cassian shakes his head, confused. “I’m sorry, but the hotel is about to close.”

“Like for the night?”

“Like forever,” Cassian says. Who is this?

“What? No! Look, I want to stay in a hotel—”

Cassian sighs. “The Holiday Inn is—”

“Your hotel. The hotel Dr. Bodhi Rook stayed in.”

Cassian blinks. He takes a moment to breathe, that name kick starting a million thoughts and feelings off. “Bodhi?” he asks, not thinking.

“Yeah, it’s in his book.”

“What book?”

“The Ghost in Room Six. If anyone hasn’t taken it, that’s the one I’d like.”

“Wait,” Cassian says. “There’s a book about this hotel?”

Now the other person sounds confounded. “It’s on the New York Times bestseller list. Didn’t you know?”

Cassian shakes his head, eyes wide. Then realizes he’s on the phone. “No, it’s news to me.”

“So can I book room six?”

Cassian is torn, one last guest, and it’s not Bodhi. But he needs the money. “Yes,” he says, back to business. “What dates?”

Mr. Harper books room six for the upcoming weekend, and laments that the place is closing. Cassian feels the same way.

Cassian hangs up the land line and pulls out his cell phone to text the realtor about being late. He’s to the front door when the phone rings again. 

“Andor’s Bed and Breakfast, how can I assist you?”

“Is this the same hotel like in the book?”

“Yes?”

“Is number six still available?”

Cassian is in disbelief. Was it true? He lodges Mrs. Diaz in room two, at the bottom of the stairs, he explains, and that seems to satisfy her enough.

Cassian calls the agent to cancel. He’s in shock. Bodhi wrote the paper, did he publish it as a book? Cassian pulls up his browser on his phone, and types in “Ghost in Room Six, Bodhi Rook,” and there he is, his hair shorn for an author’s photo, serious but a hint of a smile. Perfect.

Cassian orders the book, and that’s when his landline rings again.

It doesn’t stop all afternoon.

 

The number Bodhi had used to book the room was no longer in service, so Cassian ends up contacting the publisher. He feels ridiculous for even having to do this, and they sound very dubious about his identity.

“I know I can’t have his number, but can I leave mine? It’s important.”

They finally relent.

Cassian doesn’t know what to expect of it, so he doesn’t necessarily wait by the phone. His book comes in the next week, and he sits down to read it.

It’s good. 

It’s really good. Bodhi is a phenomenal writer, pages flowing with words that spin a story and an idea all at once, and Cassian is rapt.

The way the hotel is described makes it sound both grander and more cozy than it really is, and Cassian wonders how Bodhi saw any of this, and if it was an exaggeration to further the plot.

And the way Bodhi writes about Cassian. Or the person running the Bed and Breakfast, because the hotel name is the same, but Cassian’s isn’t. How he’s kind, and caring, and willing to go the extra mile, and Cassian thinks that precedence shouldn’t be set, because he’d do these things for Bodhi, but not necessarily Mrs. Diaz in room two.

Cassian soberly realizes that this was a missed opportunity, and he blew it. Bodhi is gone.

He’s deep in the book when the front desk bell rings. “Just a minute Mrs. Diaz!” he says, setting the book down and getting up.

He’s shutting the door behind him and locking it (Mrs. Diaz likes to wander) when he feels a presence at his back. “Yes, Mrs.—”

“Hello,” Bodhi says. His eyes are wide and scared, although Cassian doesn’t know why. Cassian gapes at him. “My agent said you called the publisher, and I, well I thought about calling, but I really just wanted to see you, the place, here, you, again, and I —”

Cassian kisses him before Bodhi can say anything else. He’s going for broke, his heart is almost there on seeing him again anyway. It’s hesitant, just two lips stuttering against each other.

He pulls back and licks his lips, feeling alive. He opens his eyes, waiting for judgment to come, for shock, and Bodhi just looks at him in awe. 

“Sorry,” Cassian says, his accent sounding thick even to his own ears. “Not really sorry, I liked kissing you, but if you didn’t —”

This time it’s Bodhi who pulls Cassian in. It’s fierce, and a flurry of action, and Cassian can feel himself melting against him, arms winding around Bodhi’s frame as Bodhi’s hands caress his face. Cassian pauses to take a breath, then goes back for more, and more. Then somehow Cassian is pressed against his door. 

Bodhi shifts against him, and Cassian pulls back, hitting his head. 

“Are you okay?” Bodhi asks. 

“Yeah,” Cassian says. “I just, I want to be sure,” he says, feeling completely dumb.

“I’m a sure thing,” Bodhi says, nodding. 

Cassian laughs, “No, I mean I want to know if you want sex or a relationship.” It sounds crude, laid in the open, but Cassian doesn’t know if he would be able to only sleep with Bodhi for one night. He needs multiple nights. Every night. Half to hold and look at him, the other half to writhe on top of him.

“I didn’t fly four hundred miles for a booty call, if that’s what you’re asking.”

Cassian absolutely does not sigh with relief. It is close, though. 

Bodhi smiles at him softly, his brown eyes warm. “I liked you from the moment I met you,” Bodhi says. “The more time I got to spend with you,” he trails off, sweeping hair out of Cassian’s face. “I wanted to spend all my moments with you. Even when you snored on the dining room table.” He grins, devious.

Cassian glares, but leans in for another kiss. Bodhi’s lips might be the best thing he’s ever felt with his own, warm to the touch, pliant, and soft. Bodhi nips at his bottom lip and Cassian hums in response. He’s threading his hand through the short hairs at the back of Bodhi’s neck, feeling along the side of Bodhi’s tongue with his own, and finding any spaces of Bodhi he can fit into. 

Bodhi is pulling back, though, and Cassian leans in after him, not wanting to stop. 

Bodhi smiles, and nods to the side indicating Mrs. Diaz, who has a sly look on her face.

Cassian clears his throat, “Mrs. Diaz, my apologies,” he says, stepping in front of Bodhi.

Mrs. Diaz waves him off. “I was young once,” she says. “My Jorge and I could’ve given you a run for your money.”

Cassian feels his face heat up at this, but she continues blithely, “I was wondering if I could have an extra towel.”

“Of course!” Cassian turns down the hall to retrieve the item and take a breath. He feels like he should be shaking, but he’s not. Steady. This is right, even if he can hardly believe it. He walks back with the towel, and hears Mrs. Diaz and Bodhi talking. 

“Thank you,” Bodhi says as Cassian walks in. Cassian hands Mrs. Diaz the towel, and she smiles and thanks him before walking back to her room.

Cassian turns and sees Bodhi there, Bodhi, who he thought was gone out of his life, but here he is, in the flesh.

“What?” Bodhi asks.

“You came back,” Cassian says. “You came back for me.” He shakes his head and smiles. 

Bodhi frowns. “Of course I came back,” he says, stepping into Cassian’s space. “I don’t have anywhere to stay, however,” he says, teasing.

“All the rooms are booked, I’m afraid,” Cassian says running a hand down Bodhi’s chest to his waist, holding him there. 

“I heard that hotels always keep one extra bed available.”

“That’s a myth,” Cassian says. “But I might have one bed…”

“Oh?” Bodhi leans in and kisses up Cassian’s jaw, his lips probably rubbing raw from his beard. 

“You’d have to share a room with the owner, I hope that’s okay,” Cassian says, sounding more breathy than he means too, but Bodhi is nuzzling him, actually running his face against Cassian’s own, pressing kisses into Cassian’s skin, hair, wherever he can reach. 

“I think I’ll live,” Bodhi says, his voice rough.

That’s it, Cassian has had enough, and he turns around quickly, furiously looking for the keys in his pockets, searching for the right one to his room. 

“What is it?” Bodhi asks, and Cassian finally jams the right key in, and opens the door and pulls Bodhi in after him.

“I need you on me,” Cassian says as soon as Bodhi looks in his room. He hopes it’s not too soon, that Bodhi won’t back out at how fast Cassian is pushing this relationship along, he really should romance this man, take him for long walks and hold hands and talk about everything and nothing. “If that’s okay,” he adds awkwardly.

“Yes,” Bodhi says, fervently. “Yes, anything, please.”

Cassian takes Bodhi’s hands in his and leads him into his room again. Cassian sits on the bed, Bodhi still standing in between his legs. He holds onto Bodhi’s hips for a moment, then looks up into Bodhi’s face. Bodhi looks at him, hands on Cassian’s shoulders, and Bodhi makes the move to straddle Cassian so he backs up onto the bed.

“Cassian,” Bodhi says, looking down at him, staring in wonder. 

Cassian feels alight with love for this man. But he’ll wait to tell Bodhi that later. “Come down here,” Cassian pleads, tugging at Bodhi’s shirt, and Bodhi follows, but instead of Cassian’s mouth, his lips land on Cassian’s neck. 

“Ah,” Cassian gasps, pushing his chest up into Bodhi’s. He feels like his breath is getting pulled out of him, but he doesn’t want to stop. He grabs onto Bodhi’s shoulders, and crumples Bodhi’s shirt in doing so, untucking it.

Bodhi is gratuitously biting Cassian’s chin, dragging his teeth down the line of his throat, and Cassian holds on, presses himself up, and tells Bodhi, “Yes.”

He lets his hands wander down to the small of Bodhi’s back where the shirt has come undone, and feels the warm skin against his hands, soft. He wonders how his hands look on Bodhi, and he pushes the shirt up, trying to get Bodhi up so Cassian can see. 

Bodhi makes a disappointed noise against Cassian’s throat, and Cassian sighs. “Let me see you,” he says.

Bodhi sits up, and pulls off the shirt, but doesn’t come back. 

“What?” Cassian says, running his hands along the hair of Bodhi’s chest, the line of hair going down to where Bodhi’s cock is, still in his jeans. Cassian feels irrationally angry at them from keeping Bodhi apart from him, and when his hand trails down that line of hair, he brushes his fingers against the edge of the jeans, and pulls at them, unbuttoning and unzipping and opening, the bulge of Bohdi there.

“You know you should take your shirt off too, to make it even,” Bodhi says.

Cassian starts unbuttoning, and watches as Bodhi’s eyes follow the skin being revealed. The last button is near the vee of Bodhi’s legs, and Cassian runs the back of his fingers against Bodhi’s cock, watching it strain under the material. Bodhi grabs onto his hand before Cassian can explore any further and gets on his knees to shuck the rest of his clothes off.

Cassian knows he should take this moment to do the same, but his eyes won’t leave Bodhi, dark hair on dark skin, a beautiful man in his bed, and he wants Cassian.

“You too, come on,” Bodhi says. Cassian goes into action, pulling off the rest of the shirt and yanking down his jeans and underwear, having to lift his hips to do so. He’s kicking it off, when he sees Bodhi watching him, grinning. Cassian can’t help but smile too, feeling happy for the first time in a long time. 

Bodhi lays down beside him, and touches Cassian, letting his hands wander over his skin. Cassian feels like no part of him has been untouched; Bodhi is a thorough lover. As for Cassian, he feels somehow peaceful and jittery at the same time, taking turns being too fast, to being gentle, but Bodhi seems to like it all. They explore each other’s bodies, how Cassian’s hip is sensitive, especially when bitten, and how Bodhi’s thighs when touched light him up.

It seems like hours later that Bodhi straddles him again, taking Cassian’s hands and pinning them above his head. He looks crazed and serious. “Lube?” he asks.

Cassian lets go of Bodhi and reaches over to the nightstand, thankful that he hasn’t moved it back to the sock drawer. He grabs it, and Bodhi pulls off of him to get off the bed.

Cassian looks over in confusion, and Bodhi holds up a condom he pulled from his wallet.

Cassian sinks back onto the bed, and twists open the lube. Bodhi sinks onto the bed next to him, and takes the lube from Cassian. Cassian draws his knees up, and Bodhi puts his body between them.

Bodhi is gentle, opening him up. Cassian revels in the feeling, of Bodhi inside him, fingers exploring, brushing his prostate, and Cassian writhes at the sensation. 

Cassian opens his eyes, and Bodhi is all he can see, the look of wonder and heat filling Cassian with the same emotions.

“Now,” Cassian says, and he hope Bodhi knows what he’s talking about because he doesn’t have the brain cells to put together a more elaborate sentence.

Bodhi rushes to grab the condom at Cassian’s demand, ripping open the foil and sheathing himself. Cassian sits up and lubes Bodhi’s cock, stroking along his length, amazed at the power in his hands. He wants to lay Bodhi back, take the condom off and explore Bodhi’s cock some more, he feels his mouth empty at the lack of it.

“Cassian,” Bodhi says, stuttering.

Cassian looks up, Bodhi’s length still in his hand. 

“I don’t know how much longer…” he says.

“Bodhi,” Cassian says, and he leans in for a kiss, laying Bodhi back. Cassian feels like everything is on overdrive, how much he wants all of Bodhi, and he can’t press in enough, their cocks lined up together igniting a fire in him, and he thrusts, unthinking, just wanting Bodhi. He’s panting already, pressing hasty kisses along Bodhi’s face, hiding his face in Bodhi’s neck where he feels Bodhi’s heartbeat pounding just like his own. Cassian ruts into him, his hands sliding up to Bodhi’s own, needing to be held, needing to hold him.

Cassian can feel the lube running out of him, feels the slick of Bodhi’s and his sweat between them, and the feeling of intensity and brightness grows and grows as Cassian’s hips slide and grind against Bodhi’s. 

Bodhi is saying something, and it sounds like, yes, so Cassian keeps it up, faster and messier, and then his body seizes as he comes, painting their bodies with hot streaks of white. Bodhi practically mewls when Cassian stops, his hands clenched in Cassian’s.

Cassian leans up and off, Bodhi looks wrecked, and he lines himself up to sink onto Bodhi’s cock. It’s a little tight, Cassian has just come, but is still wet from lube, so he gradually fucks himself on Bodhi’s dick, just the tip at first, sliding in and out of him as he holds on, and Bodhi’s whimpers, so Cassian slowly sinks down, feeling full, like Bodhi is in every part of him.

Cassian sighs, but then he feels Bodhi jerk up underneath him, into him. Cassian gasps, still coming down from his high, his body on overload. 

“Do you think,” Bodhi says, as Cassian begins coming up again, “you could go again?”

Cassian shakes his head, “I don’t know, no, but,” and he trails off, as Bodhi begins to thrust, meeting Cassian’s pace, their bodies in sync. Cassian looks at Bodhi who is sweating, holding onto Cassian’s thighs in a fierce grip, thrusting into him, faster and faster, and Cassian groans, leans back, baring his throat.

Bodhi’s hips start moving into him erratically, so Cassian pushes down on Bodhi with his hips and grinds, squeezing tight.

Bodhi tenses, his hands will leave bruises, Cassian thinks. He can feel Bodhi jerk inside him, and Bodhi moans before releasing and sighing, his body limp. 

Cassian watches as Bodhi drifts, his eyes barely open. Cassian gets up slowly, letting Bodhi slip out of him, and Bodhi fumbles with tying the condom off, and drops it off the side of the bed. He lays there for a moment after, Cassian rubbing his sides before siding up behind him. He pulls the sheets over them both, and they both fall asleep.

 

Cassian wakes up, feeling stretched and sore, but happy. He presses closer to Bodhi, who is — not there. 

“Bodhi?” Cassian asks.

“In here!” Bodhi calls, and then he hears the padding of feet before seeing Bodhi in a pair of Cassian’s sweatpants, holding a tray with two coffees and a rag on it. He sets the tray on the nightstand before picking up the rag, and tugging at the sheet wrapped around Cassian. “May I?” he asks.

Cassian nods, sleepily blinking as Bodhi unwraps him, and gently wipes Cassian down with the warm, wet rag. When he’s done, he sets the rag on the floor, and pulls Cassian up into his arms. Cassian feels like he should protest, but it feels good to be pliant in Bodhi’s arms. Cassian reaches for the coffee just past Bodhi and balances it just so to settle into the vee of Bodhi’s legs, letting his own fall akimbo. 

He takes a sip and sighs. “This is good,” he says.

Bodhi kisses his head. “Thank you.”

 

Cassian runs up the steps to the bed and breakfast. Tivik is there, wringing his hands. “There’s not enough eggs!” he says, but Cassian shoves the paper bag at him, and Tivik looks in and sighs in relief. “Thank the heavens,” he says, and turns back inside. 

“Thank Baze and his chickens, they came through again,” Cassian says. 

“Put in a larger order next time,” Tivik whisper-calls. It’s five in the morning, after all. Cassian shrugs off his jacket and puts it on the hanger behind the counter, thinking he would get to next week’s reservations, a film crew is coming in, of all things, but Kay is laying on the papers.

Cassian absentmindedly pets him, looking at the top of the counter where brochures for the town reside, and of course, Bodhi’s book in a place of honor. They’re all signed by the man himself, so they go fairly quickly. 

Cassian smiles. He has a million things to do, but one is most important. He slips back into their room, using the dim light of the setting moon to guide him, and walks over to the bed. 

Bodhi is curled up, hugging a pillow, which is his wont when he’s not sleeping with Cassian. Cassian sits on the edge of the bed and leans over to kiss Bodhi’s forehead. He is a light sleeper, and prone to wake up in an instant.

“Your lips are cold,” Bodhi grumbles. 

“Perhaps you could warm them,” Cassian says, teasing. “This is your morning wake up call, Mr. Rook.” 

Bodhi opens his eyes, and smiles. “Rook-Andor, remember?”

Cassian beams. “I like it when you remind me,” he says, and leans in for another kiss, morning breath be damned.

Bodhi rolls his eyes but grins. “I’ll remind you every day for the rest of our lives.” He pauses. “After too.”

Cassian huffs a laugh. Bodhi still searches for ghosts. That’s what he does. But Cassian is nothing, if not long suffering.

**Author's Note:**

> Like it? [Reblog it!](https://wingedbears.tumblr.com/post/163681944518/the-ghost-in-room-six-wingedbears-rogue-one-a)


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